


Lucky

by RhymePhile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Banter, Drunkenness, Kissing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-30
Updated: 2005-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhymePhile/pseuds/RhymePhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answering machine messages from Alex Krycek prompt Mulder to examine the guilt he has over an event that occurred at his apartment.</p><p>Spoilers: "The Red and the Black"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Griva, who wanted to see a fic about an answering machine conversation. I hope it meets expectations, my friend.

  
It was after midnight by the time Mulder dropped his overcoat on the floor and collapsed onto his couch. Heaving an exhausted sigh, he was about to tilt his head back when the flashing light on his answering machine beckoned him.

He was tempted to forget about it, but instead he pressed play and decided a beer might help him sleep. After messages touting revolutionary aluminum siding -- for a guy in an apartment, he thought, annoyed -- and two hang-ups, Mulder almost dropped the bottle from his hand when he heard the voice.

"It's 10 o'clock, Mulder. Where are you? Don't tell me you've gotten a life all of a sudden. Wait, shit, if you did, does that mean you know something I don't and the world is ending? That would be ironic, wouldn't it -- the double-crossing triple agent working for the bad guys is last to find out. That would be my luck, though. Me and my one-and-a-half arms would be hoisting a toast to a job well done and discover the bartender was an alien..."

Krycek's dark laughter echoed throughout Mulder's apartment, and it suddenly occurred to Mulder that he hadn't deleted the message yet. He was intrigued while listening, because it sounded like Alex Krycek -- a man who liked to be in control in every situation -- was drunk off his ass. Mulder could also hear noise in the background, along with the sound of a band playing...folk music? No, it sounded like the music from that guy who could dance a hundred miles an hour...Riverdance...Irish music, with plenty of flutes and whistles and drums. And not only that, but Krycek's voice sounded tired as well, like he was distressed despite the laughter. What the hell. After everything that happened, he couldn't believe the other man had actually called him.

The laughter died away, and Mulder heard Krycek sniff and clear his throat before continuing.

"Mulder, I wanted to talk to you, you son of a bitch. Wh-where are you?"

The sound of the phone being replaced on its cradle came through the answering machine's speakers, and Mulder returned to his spot on the couch, wondering how it was possible that Alex Krycek kept constantly showing up in his life.

* * *

"I suppose you've already left for work, even though it's not quite six yet. Maybe you're avoiding me...that would make sense. And if you're wondering, I'm still only *slightly* drunk, because it takes a long time for vodka to leave my system after I haven't had it in a while. And it's been a while, Mulder. Y'know when that was? After they chopped my fucking arm off, Mulder...that was the last time I drank vodka. I know it's good when it burns on the way down, and it feels like my blood is on fire. I thought it would feel good tonight, this morning, whatever, but I just feel cold, and dark, and...and...pissed off, because why do you bother keeping a home phone if you're never there?"

Mulder had stumbled from the shower that morning into the middle of another message from Krycek, but he couldn't reach the phone in time. Or perhaps he didn't want to answer. That might have been closer to the truth.

* * *

More than two weeks later, Mulder had finally finished a laborious week that included two disciplinary meetings with Skinner for improperly filled-out expense reports, a broken desk chair, and a cranky Scully. All he longed for was a quiet weekend, but Alex Krycek kept invading his thoughts when he heard the latest message.

"You're probably wondering why I don't call your cell phone if I want to speak with you so badly. Well, I don't want to bother you if you're out on a case or something, and I'd rather not have a conversation while the redhead is sitting there listening to your every word. And to be honest, lately I only think about calling you when I'm drunk, and I can never remember your goddamn cell phone number..."

The man on the phone sighed deeply, obviously lost in thought while trying to voice his words. The sounds of a tin whistle came piping through with Krycek's voice.

"But I can recall your home number like it were my own. Isn't that odd, Mulder? I hate this -- it's like you're still a part of me, even though I keep drinking to forget."

Mulder sighed, staring at the blinking red light while the message played. He rarely ever drank, but tonight it took two easy swallows to finish the amber-colored whiskey that swirled around his water glass.

* * *

"I'm getting the feeling that you're screening," Krycek said, his voice husky and dark over the tinny speakers.

Mulder sat there and listened as the other man talked, annoyed that Krycek could tell what he was doing. It had been nearly a month since the other man's last phone call, and just when Mulder was sure the messages had stopped, he heard Krycek's instantly recognizable voice float through the room once again. He reached over to pick up the phone -- momentarily distracted by the shout of the band and a rapid drum tattoo -- but changed his mind when Krycek started speaking again.

"Why is that?" Krycek continued. "Don't want to talk to me? Can't stand to hear my voice? Memories too vivid, Mulder? Is that what it is? You can't bear to talk to me because you're ashamed of what happened, and you wish I were standing there now, in front of you, so you could make me bleed instead of focusing on how you feel? It's bullshit, Mulder. Every time you see me or hear my voice you'll be thinking about that night. You want to call it a mistake, or a moment's indiscretion? Fine. Lie to yourself. Pretend it didn't happen. But you know as well as I do, Mulder, this won't go away, even if you kill me."

He was right, Mulder thought wearily. Krycek was aware when he was screening his calls, he knew exactly why he was hesitant to pick up the phone, and he realized how much that night continued to haunt him.

* * *

A few days later Mulder came to a decision about the continuing calls from Krycek. He told himself that if he received another message on the machine, he would just delete it. Weeks of calls had certainly piqued Mulder's interest, but they eventually began to take a toll on his conscience. Krycek was right in his last message of course, and the more Mulder ruminated on the events of that night the more guilt tore at him...

It had happened four months ago, exactly four days after Krycek's first visit to give Mulder the tip about Wiekamp Air Force Base. He had come once again to share information, sneaking into the apartment after Mulder had fallen asleep on the couch. Krycek had been preternaturally silent -- Mulder still wondered to this day if Alex had simply been there the entire time, somehow avoiding detection. It was one of the few moments in Mulder's life when absolute, blinding fear took hold of him, as Krycek clamped a hard, plastic forearm over Mulder's mouth. There was no way to struggle away from the gun that touched his forehead, and no way to tear his eyes from the look of green fire leveled at him. Krycek was straddling him as well, leaving Mulder vulnerable, defenseless, and truly afraid for his life. Mulder had always felt like he had some kind of upper hand with the other man, as if the fact that he was a good guy out for truth and justice mattered. Krycek was beneath his contempt, and in every previous meeting -- even the one four days before -- Mulder made sure Alex knew it. This time, however, Mulder was in no position to make clever quips.

"I think I like you better like this, Mulder. I have a feeling we'd get along if you shut up for a change."

Mulder scowled up at Krycek, struggling to breathe and muttering curses that were muffled against Alex's forearm.

"I'm glad you agree," Krycek smirked. "We could also accomplish a lot more if you stopped punching me every time we see each other."

Krycek drew back his left arm from Mulder's face to allow him to talk, but slid the barrel of his gun against Mulder's chin.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Krycek warned, as Mulder was about to speak. "Raise your hand to me, and I swear to God I'll shoot you this time, Mulder. I've had enough."

"You can dish it out but can't take it, huh, tough guy?" Mulder asked sarcastically.

Krycek glared down at him, his eyes shining with quiet rage.

"You've never seen me angry enough to get violent," he replied ominously, his features contorting into a vicious sneer. "And you probably want to keep it that way."

"Yeah? Then what did I see that made you kiss me?" Mulder lobbed back.

Krycek blinked. He frowned slightly, allowing Mulder to catch a storm of emotions pass over his face in an instant. But as quickly as his guard had come crashing down, Krycek recovered fast enough to put his walls up again.

"Hit a nerve, didn't I?"

"Shut up, Mulder."

"It obviously wasn't anger...hmm, what was it, Krycek?"

"Shut up," he whispered.

"Camaraderie? Just being friendly? Or maybe," Mulder shifted his hips, purposely brushing his crotch against Krycek, "holding a gun on me makes you hard?"

Krycek bolted upright from the couch, the backs of his knees catching against the edge of the coffee table, and he slammed against it. He fell over onto his side -- the table surprisingly holding up against the assault -- and rolled onto the floor.

Mulder was up as soon as Krycek left the couch, intent on preventing the man from escaping.

Scrambling to regain his balance, Krycek struggled to stand, but Mulder was advancing on him too quickly, and he was forced to awkwardly heave himself backwards until he hit the back of Mulder's desk chair.

Mulder reached down to pick up Krycek's gun, crouching so that he came eye to eye with the sitting man. Mulder cocked the weapon and held it against Krycek's cheek.

"I'm getting a serious case of deja vu, what about you?"

"Mulder..."

"Cut the shit, Krycek. Tell me why you're here."

Krycek met the other man's eyes, feigning confidence. "To tell you that it was all going to hell." And under his breath, he added, "Fucker."

"What was that?" Mulder asked, lowering his face closer to Krycek's. "All this excitement made you forget I'm the one holding the gun?"

"No..." he growled angrily.

"You expect me to believe that you came back just to give me more information? Why do you keep helping me?"

"I'm not."

"You are. Why?" Mulder caught his eye, and Krycek immediately turned to look away. Mulder kneeled and dipped his head to look into Krycek's face. The other man met his eyes again, and Mulder could feel his breath, he was that close.

"Because," was all Krycek said.

"Answer me," Mulder demanded, grabbing the upper part of Krycek's right arm. "Why the hell do you always..."

Mulder's sentence was cut off by the sudden sensation of Krycek's lips on his. Mulder came to the realization that Krycek was kissing him, hard, and then the other man pulled back.

"That's the reason, all right?" Krycek said harshly. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Mulder bit his bottom lip, his mind swirling. The other man wouldn't look at him, as if he was suddenly reevaluating his spontaneous action. He simply sat there, defeated, staring at the hardwood floor. Mulder took a moment to process what had just happened, and impulsively leaned in to kiss Krycek back. It was crazy and he couldn't believe he was doing it, but there it was. He was kissing Alex Krycek. The other man seemed completely taken aback at first, but soon met Mulder's tongue with his own, and they began lapping and tasting each other as they kissed. Mulder pressed closer, exploring the uniqueness of kissing another man. The gun he held was soon forgotten in favor of clenching his hand into the creaking leather of Alex's jacket.

The Glock clunked to the floor at the same time Krycek slid his hand to Mulder's waist and moaned. "Fox..."

He wasn't sure if it was the noise of the gun hitting the floor, or that unmistakable needy sound wrapped in his name that escaped Krycek's throat, but Mulder seemed to wake up and pushed the other man away.

"Stop," he ordered. "Get off me..."

Confused, Krycek looked at him. "Fox...Mulder. I thought..."

Krycek reached up and caressed the other man's cheek. Immediately Mulder turned his head, and then backhanded Krycek sharply across the face.

"I said to get the fuck off me!"

Krycek winced, and brought his hand up to his bloodied lip. His eyes were tearing from the impact of Mulder's fingers near his nose and he blinked to clear his vision. Faster than Mulder could process, Krycek rolled to his left and snatched up his Glock that Mulder had dropped. He was instantly on his feet, Mulder still on his knees.

Krycek raised the Glock to Mulder's hairline. "You bastard."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen. I just...reacted..."

"What, the kiss or making me bleed again? I *told* you!" Krycek shouted, his face wild and angry. "I told you not to hit me again, you son of a bitch!" He was waving the gun at Mulder now as he spoke. "What was that? Did you manipulate me that way so you had a better chance at leaving a scar?"

"No, I didn't..."

"You're a fucking *liar*, Mulder!"

"Alex, I didn't mean to hit you," Mulder said, acutely aware of the wild man in front of him punctuating each of his words with a wave of the Glock. "I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that.."

"Apologize now that I have a gun to your head, right?" Krycek spat angrily. "I'm so fucking stupid. I thought...goddammit, I thought you wanted me back."

"I don't know what happened!" Mulder exclaimed, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I wasn't thinking and..."

"You're right, you weren't thinking," he answered hotly, still aiming at Mulder's head, "and neither was I if I thought admitting to you how I felt would change anything. God, why couldn't you just have beaten me up and be done with it? I thought you were really...kissing me. Why did you have to..."

Krycek clenched his teeth and sighed deeply, lowering the gun.

"You know, I should put a bullet in that head of yours, Mulder, and be done with it. Get rid of you from my life and move on. But I can't. I never could."

Krycek violently kicked the desk chair next to Mulder's head in frustration and slid his Glock back into the waistband of his jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, wiped his lip, and straightened his jacket. "And that's why you'll always win."

* * *

"I don't know why I keep calling, I know you'll never pick up the phone. And I don't understand why I even give a shit about you or what happened. But the vodka isn't working anymore, Mulder. I drink to lose myself, the way I did when I was learning how to cope with only being half a man. It used to soothe my anger, help me focus. Now when I get angry, all I can think of is you, and no matter how drunk I get, the feelings won't go away. That night keeps replaying again and again in my head, and what fuels my anger isn't what you did, it's what might have changed. For a moment, I thought you understood...I really thought you knew who I was and wanted me despite that. Y'know, I'm glad you haven't picked up the phone, because I know I'd never admit this while I was talking to you -- and it helps that I'm still drunk -- but I wish I could see you again, Mulder."

Mulder dropped his head into his hands, unable to prevent the pain in Alex's voice from making his chest hurt, even after all these months. The familiar pang of regret over what happened led him to break the promise he made to himself to delete Krycek's messages. He needed to do something. They had to talk.

* * *

Mulder finally found a parking spot where he could see the pub's front door without difficulty and killed the engine. He was fairly certain he was in the right place. It took him some time to research, but Mallory Brennan's Pub was the only place that featured an authentic, live Irish folk band at 10 o'clock every Friday night. Who would've guessed Krycek had an appreciation for that type of music?

It was close to closing time, and he hoped Krycek was going to be coming out of the pub at any moment. Mulder didn't know where Krycek lived or whether he even had a car, but this pub was close enough to his own apartment to make it a likely place Alex might go. He wondered if after a night of holding a gun to Mulder's head, Krycek followed it up by stopping in for a beer.

Various people and a few couples had been streaming from the pub over the last 15 minutes, but there was no sign of Krycek. Mulder wondered if he had missed him, or if there was...a side door. Shit. It exited into an alley, and knowing Krycek he probably chose to use that less conspicuous door than the one that emptied into the street.

Mulder left his car and jogged across the road to check out the alley. It was littered with trash and beer bottles, and three large Dumpsters sat against the right side wall. The side door was at the top of a small stairway, so Mulder ascended the steps to see if the door was locked from the outside. When he got to the top of the stoop and put his fingers on the handle, he heard the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered.

"Fuck."

"How did you ever survive for this long, Mulder? You should have an X-File on yourself."

Mulder turned around and looked into the barrel of Krycek's Glock. "I guess I'm just lucky."

"Kind of ironic that there's a gun on you in the alley of an Irish pub, then," Krycek replied, pointing to Mulder's feet.

He glanced down and realized he was standing on a large, green four-leaf clover that had been painted on the cement of the stoop. "Guess I won't be finding that pot of gold tonight, huh?"

Krycek gestured with his gun. "This is the only thing at the end of your rainbow, Mulder."

"Clever."

"I'm a little drunk. I'm allowed. But keep it up and I may get really, really funny," Krycek said, aiming at Mulder's kneecap.

"No reason to get all IRA on me, Krycek."

Krycek blinked. "What?"

"Irish Republican Army? Famous for 'kneecapping' their victims? You don't make a very good Russian Irishman."

"I know what the IRA is, dumbass, I just didn't hear you. 'Go li neach neamhshaolta do bhall fearga.'"

It was Mulder's turn to look confused. "That didn't sound like Russian."

"Guh lee nyakh nyav-hee-uhl-tuh duh wahl fah-ruh-guh," Krycek repeated, slower. "It's Gaelic. And I'm not Russian, I was born here, Mulder."

"What does 'guh lee nyuck'...whatever you said mean?"

"Literally, it means, 'May an alien being lick your manly part.'"

Mulder stared at Krycek, and then both men started laughing.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said, after they had both composed themselves.

"For not knowing Gaelic?"

"For...that night. For doing what I did, and ignoring your calls."

Krycek sobered for a moment, then looked up with the menacing glare that scared the hell out of Mulder that night four months ago. Suddenly the Glock was even with Mulder's head again.

"You're *sorry*?" Krycek asked incredulously. "That seems to come out of your mouth a lot whenever I have a gun aimed at your head. Is that all you can say?"

"That, and it was never a game."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Before you left that night, you said I would always win because you could never kill me."

"I'm starting to reconsider," Krycek said, his tone menacing.

Mulder slowly descended the stairs and walked over to where Krycek was standing.

"I wasn't playing a game with you, Alex. It just happened suddenly, and I reacted the way I usually do with you."

"You reacted in your usual way. Thanks for that, Mulder. It's good to know what to expect every time I..." Krycek went silent, and looked away.

"Every time you what?"

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Krycek hissed angrily, his eyes still cast downward.

"I didn't manipulate you, Alex. I, uh, I didn't expect that kiss, to be honest, so I just did the first thing that came to mind..."

"Right, by smacking me again."

"No," Mulder said, "I meant kissing you back."

Krycek looked up. "You only went along with it in order to hit me again, Mulder. It didn't mean anything."

Mulder stepped closer to Krycek. "I didn't do it to hit you. I'm sorry that happened, Alex -- I don't know why I lashed out at you like that. I'm sick of the violence between us all the damn time, all right? I want it to stop. Just listen to me for a second..."

"Oh, it stops when you decide it does?" Krycek lunged forward and stabbed the barrel of his Glock into Mulder's stomach. "You never once considered what I went through to...do what I did. Showing you how I felt! I've never shown that kind of weakness to anyone, Mulder, and you repay me by..."

Mulder pushed Krycek back roughly against the wall of the alley and claimed the other man's mouth with his own. Krycek struggled against him at first, but Mulder held both of his arms over his head and continued the assault on his lips. He probed Krycek's mouth with his tongue, and the other man eventually responded in kind by grinding his hips. Mulder felt Krycek's crotch brush against his, and the involuntary moan that somehow came from his mouth made Krycek drop his gun with a gasp.

Mulder pulled away from Krycek's lips. "It's not a weakness to show someone how you feel, Alex."

Krycek remained pressed against the wall, his hands over his head, eyes closed.

"Look at me, Alex," Mulder whispered.

"I can't," came the anguished reply.

"Why not?"

"Because I want it to be different this time. I want to believe you, Mulder, and I need to look into your eyes and see it. I can't bear this anymore."

"I've told you I was sorry about hitting you. I reacted with my fists, and I sincerely regret doing that to you again. But I need you to believe that I *did* kiss you back that night, Alex. Just like I kissed you now. Please." Mulder gently put his hand against Krycek's face, and then pulled it away quickly. "Please believe me."

Krycek slowly opened his eyes and looked at Mulder, who was staring intently at his face.

"It can be different," Mulder said. "Let me try."

"You sound like a jilted lover begging for forgiveness."

"Perhaps. But I'm not your lover." Mulder slid his thumb over Krycek's chin. "Yet."

Krycek smirked at him. "I'm still not drunk enough for this."

Mulder grinned back. "I don't understand it either."

"I guess you're just lucky."

Mulder finally released Krycek and bent over to pick up the Glock. He handed it back to Alex by the barrel. "I think that depends on you."

Krycek sighed and looked down at his gun. "Going to trust me?"

"Trusting me might be harder."

Krycek met Mulder's eyes and slid his Glock into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

"I think we need to talk," Krycek said.

"I could use a beer."

"Let's go, then."

"But, the pub is closed. Where else can we..."

"We can go to my place," Krycek replied. "It's not far."

"First date and you're already bringing me home. I'm impressed."

"It's not a date, Mulder," Krycek said, rolling his eyes. "I just had a gun to your head. Let's work through the homicidal tendencies first, okay?"

"And then what?"

"And then maybe you'll get lucky."  



End file.
